


The Drift

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Team Fortress 2
Genre: Character Death, Crossover, F/M, Inspired by SillyScrunchy, M/M, Pacific Rim Crossover, Violence, au pacific rim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacific Rim AU inspired by SillyScrunchy's comments on Tumblr.</p><p>Scout *really* wants to be the Left Pilot on the Jaeger Strange Huntsman.  But first, he's got to spar with the man who used to be his father's co-pilot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sparring Day

 

Brendan Ahearn, or "Scout" as he'd been affectionately dubbed since he was a child, was the loudest and most obnoxious kid in the newest batch of grunts vying for the seat on the jaeger _Strange Huntsman._   Fresh-faced from Boston (where there had never even *been* a Kaiju attack) and proclaiming that he was naturally smarter that most, faster than a whip and full of fighting instinct, he came barreling into the sparring ring predicting his own victory like Babe Ruth famously pointing into the distance.   

 

After all, he was a *legacy.*

 

His father was Henri Baudin, Codename Spy, the previous Left-Side pilot of the infamous Jaeger that had 10 Kaiju kills under it's belt already.  It was Scout's destiny to be the new co-pilot, his birthright.  His father had been one of the best, and now it was Scout's job to carry on the family tradition of kicking monster ass.  

 

It had been a year since the phone call confirmed what he'd already known.  

 

****

 

Brendan and his mother Alice had been watching live feeds of _Strange Huntsman_ fighting the monster dubbed BearTrap all night, wringing their hands with worry.  Every time the Class 3 Kaiju raised it's meaty fist and landed a punch on _Huntsman's_ torso, it was like they could feel it in their hearts.  

 

BearTrap was all teeth and claws, and the damn thing was _fast_.  _Huntsman_ barely managed to deploy the acid bomb that shattered across the invader's chest before the heinous beast had latched its terrifying jaws around the tech suit's neck and squeezed with all its might.  Instantly, metal shards, showers of sparks, and blue blood were spraying into the ocean as the monster simultaneously fell apart at a cellular level and tore _Huntsman's_ left arm clean off at the shoulder.  

 

Newscasters from all over the world tried desperately to relay exactly what they were seeing as BearTrap met his grisly fate at the hands of the acid bomb, melting before their very eyes and sinking into the ocean amidst a glowing blue cloud of blood and viscera.  It let out a final, ungodly howl before it sank beneath the waves and finally perished.  

 

 _Huntsman_ stumbled on one leg, waves pushing it about like a twig.  It's exterior warning lights flashed and flickered, growing dim as the Huntsman became more sluggish.  The shower of sparks slowed as it tilted dangerously towards the waves. 

 

Scout and his mother clung to each other and cried: something was wrong.  

 

 _Huntsman_ grew still and began to sink.  

 

There were unconfirmed reports of a distress signal.  The newscasters all seemed to grow desperate and fearful as they tripped over their words and babbled to fill the silence while they waited for updates, reports, anything.  

 

Two escape pods were seen ejecting from _Huntsman's_ body, one at a time, landing safely in the water with a splash and for a moment, it seemed like the day would have a happy ending after all.  As rescue teams swarmed over the small, human-sized capsules, cameras from nearby helicopters zoomed in to capture the image of the lids popping open to reveal their precious cargo.  

 

One pilot wasn't moving.

 

One pilot was screaming.

 

It was at this point that Brendan and Alice turned the TV off and waited for the phone to ring.  

 

***********

 

Scout had never actually met or seen his father's co-pilot, but in phone calls, emails and letters Henri had always described him as a good man.  Grumpy most of the time, difficult to talk to, but a good man.  A good fighter and a good partner.  They had trained together and were annoyed but not really surprised when it was determined that they were drift-compatible.  From what Scout could remember of the story, the two of them bickered like an old married couple, but were an unstoppable force when they worked together.

 

Scout was not sure how he felt about finally getting to meet the man.  

 

The air was positively electric as the 10 recruits who had made it through the tests and trial-runs and invasive psychological screenings gathered in the lecture hall where Stacker Pentecost himself would begin their final test: they would all spar with the legendary Sniper to see if anyone could be deemed drift-compatible.  

 

One of the other recruits nudged Scout from behind.  "Remember, hotshot: Don't just try and _win_.  Compatibility is based on mutual instincts, not just who can beat who."  

 

Scout scoffed at her, rolling his eyes.  "What am I, new?  I know that, moron.  My dad told me all about it when I was in diapers."

 

Maria, the recruit, raised her hands in a defensive posture.  "Alright, alright, cool it, _Rápido_."

 

"Alright, maggots!"  Their Sergeant cut off the banter with a bark.  "Shut up and stand up straight, Colonel Pentecost is here!" 

 

They straightened their backs and saluted as Pentecost entered the sparring ring, trailed by three men, none of whom the recruits recognized.  None of them were dressed as Jaeger pilots, so Scout was at a loss.  

 

The first man behind Pentecost was middle-aged and greying at the temples.  He wore glasses and had a decidedly military gait, but he didn't look like much of a fighter.  The second man was tall, probably hovering at just over six feet and skinny.  He had a 5 o'clock shadow of a beard that was probably better described as an 8 o'clock shadow by now, and he had a casual stance.  He wore aviator glasses, an akubra, and one of the grimmest expressions Scout had ever seen on a person.

 

The last guy… Scout was almost _certain_ he was the pilot.  He was fucking huge.  Easily six and a half feet tall and at least 300 pounds of functional muscle.  He lumbered across the stage and Scout swore he could feel the floor shake with each step.  The guy's hands alone probably could have crushed a Kaiju skull into so much dust.  He looked really frickin' _awesome_.  Fighting with this guy by your side must have been like having a speeding freight train at your back.  No wonder his dad admired the guy.  By the way the other recruits stared, Scout knew they were thinking the same thing.  

 

"Good thing it's not about winning," Maria murmured, making some of them laugh.  

 

"Alright, settle." Pentecost chided firmly, taking his position in front of them.  "I am Stacker Pentecost, your commanding officer.  Welcome to what my men have began affectionately referring to as the Steel Cage."  There was a hint of a smirk on his face.  "As you all may know, we have spent the last year repairing and upgrading _Strange Huntsman_ for redeployment in the next two months.  And as you also all know, she needs a left pilot.  Hopefully, that is someone in this room.  Our researchers," Pentecost motioned to the greying military man, who clicked his heels at the acknowledgement.  "...have determined that the likelihood of an imminent Kaiju event is extremely high.  It is of the gravest importance that we locate a pilot who is drift compatible with Michael Mundy, codename Sniper."

 

Pentecost gestured once again, and Scout's eyes flew to the huge bear of a man.  But instead of nodding, the hulk just cast his glance to the tall, skinny guy with the _face_.  Grumpy dude stepped forward, said nothing as he looked them all over, and then stepped back.

 

 _That_ was Sniper?

 

 _That_ was the fighter his father had spoken so highly of?  _That_ was the guy who helped kill 10 Kaiju?

 

 _That_ was the guy who was with his father when he died?

 

He looked more like a hungover strip of beef jerky.  

 

Scout was not pleased.  A fleeting thought flew across his brain, no wonder his father had died, if _this_ was what he had protecting his hide.    

 

He could feel Maria's gaze on him, but he didn't return it.  He was picturing all the ways he was going to try and kick this guy's ass.  

 

 

 

tbc….

 


	2. Seeing Red

Scout drummed his fingers impatiently on his knee and fiddled with the hand wraps around his knuckles.His foot bounced and jiggled on the floor and he twitched in place on the hard bench as he waited for his turn with the other grunts.As time slowly crept by, he could feel his face get hotter and hotter.Under his a-shirt, it felt like someone had turned the thermostat up to sweltering.

 

“You need to calm down,” came Maria’s whisper from beside him.She landed two fingertips on his knee in the subtlest gesture possible to calm his bouncing leg.

 

The rhythmic sound of fighting sticks colliding and sliding against the floor was a poor distraction for the thoughts racing through Scout’s head.The fighting room in the “Steel Cage” was sparse, with simple blue mats lining the floor from wall to wall for sparring exercises and pilot-synchronicity drills mandated by the PPDC.They watched the pilot Sniper go toe-to-toe with newbie after newbie, and somehow after each fight, Pentecost, the scientist and the giant soldier would look at each other and shake their heads in disapproval. 

 

When Scout thought about it, it was amazing how much training took place without any equipment at all.Higher ranking officers and retired pilots had always stressed to new recruits that being a Jaeger pilot was 50 percent science, 50 percent instinct.So much of a pilot’s ability to be a pilot in the first place was dumb luck; some elusive combination of biology, smarts, physiology, and some unquantifiable simpatico with another human being.You could be a technological genius, in perfect physical condition, trained in every fighting style imaginable, know the Jaeger systems inside and out and still be rejected if you weren’t drift compatible with another pilot. 

 

“Thank-you, that’ll be all,” boomed Pentecost from the sidelines of the Steel Cage, bringing the current match to a timely end.On the mats, Sniper helped up the poor sucker he’d just wiped the floor with and meandered towards his water bottle, wiping sweat from his brow with a hand towel.He hadn’t said a word since they’d begun, and didn’t even confer with the others when judgments were made.It was like he didn’t even care that this sparring match would determine his new co-pilot.

 

The thought hammered away within Scout’s brain: _it’s like he doesn’t even care_.

 

“Ahearn!”Pentecost read from a long list of names, scanning the room.

 

“Yes, sir.”Scout stood and cracked his neck, then his knuckles.He stalked towards the center of the mats, rolling his shoulders and trying to loosen up his muscles. 

 

Sniper took a sip from his water bottle and re-entered the ring, sizing up his new partner.“Ahearn?”He grumbled, voice ragged and low.

 

“You betcha, pally.”Scout raised his fists and bounced on his heels.

 

“Boxing or MMA?”

 

“Gimme whatever you got, stretch.”He threw out a couple of practice jabs, and felt the beginning of a true-blue adrenaline rush. 

 

“Ahearn, I’ll warn you _once_ about that kind of disrespect.”Pentecost barked, signaling the scientist to make some sort of note. 

 

“Yes sir,” Scout answered without looking.He’d probably pay for that later: latrine duty or some such, but it was worth it to let this joker know he wasn’t afraid of him.Scout wasn’t like the others, he was the _real deal_.

 

Sniper took a deep breath, raised his fists and bent his knees, angling his body into a protective stance. 

 

They circled each other for a moment, sizing one another up.Sniper remained stone-faced and unreadable as the mood in the room made a noticeable shift.Pretty much everyone one knew who Scout was… or rather, who his father had been.Scout only wondered if anyone had told _this_ chucklehead who he was.He didn’t have his Dad’s last name, his Ma was a modern gal with modern ideas and that was cool with him: much as he loved his dad, the guy was never around.

 

Scout made the first move, pretty predictably.He lunged with his whole body to get in close and made two quick right jabs followed by a left, and then a sweep of the leg.Sniper was able to dodge the jabs, but the leg sweep got him in the ankle and he caught himself on one knee. 

 

Scout seized the opening and stomped out, aiming a kick directly for the center of Sniper’s chest.When Sniper caught his leg by the back of the knee and flipped him unceremoniously onto his back, the shock registered pretty plainly on Scout’s face.He rolled upright and shuffled backwards into a standing position, ready to strike again.He came back at Sniper with a flurry of jabs, slowly backing the taller man up.He could do this all day; attack and never give the guy a chance to hit back.He closed in relentlessly, knowing Sniper had the reach advantage.He had to stay close or he’d never land a solid punch.

 

Sniper was clearly flustered by the passion with which Scout came after him; he stumbled and fell onto his back while trying to block the jabs bombarding his torso and face.Scout wasted no time and descended, intending to turn some facial features to pulp, but got caught up in Sniper’s long legs along the way as the pilot fought back.

 

The taller man ensnared him in a pretty effective hold and rolled them both over with an eerie strength and startling ease, pinning Scout to the ground. 

 

Scout had never thought of term “seeing red” as a thing that actually happened to people when they got angry.But in that moment, slammed and pinned to the mat by the last guy to see his father alive, a strange wavy-pink distortion of his vision crept in.With a garbled scream, he bucked once, _hard_ , and escaped the hold.In a split second he had flipped himself backwards to land on his opponent and before he knew what he was doing, landed six or seven hard punches into Sniper’s ribcage, hissing expletives all the way.

 

Hands encircled him fast: four of the recruits (including Maria, _she was gonna kill him later_ ) surged forward to separate the fighters before actual blood was spilled.They yanked Scout back, dragging him across the mats and away from the legendary pilot they were all supposed to treat with the utmost respect. 

 

Scout thrashed and spit curses like a machine gun, some tiny part of him knowing the fight was over and he was in trouble, and the other half fully believing he could get another good couple swings in if only these bastards would let him go.

 

Pentecost barreled into his line of sight with the fury and focus of a raging bull.“What the hell is the matter with you, son?Have you any goddamned idea who this is?”

 

“He killed my Dad!”Scout screamed with the last of his energy, sagging in his friends arms.

 

Something in Pentecost shifted, but every so slightly.His shoulders descended a fraction of an inch and he massaged the spot between his eyebrows.“Get him out of here: we’ll discuss this after he’s mopped the mess hall. _Twice_.Go!”With a wave of the hand, Scout was dismissed.The recruits hoisted him up and hustled him towards the door, keeping their comments saved for a more private environment. 

 

The last thing Scout saw was Sniper, standing at the other end of the room.Unhurt, seemingly unmoved, with a face like stone. 

 

 


End file.
